


Blood and Flowers

by Osmosian



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-24
Updated: 2013-03-24
Packaged: 2017-12-06 08:37:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/733680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Osmosian/pseuds/Osmosian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the second world war in France.<br/>Implied Grantaire/Enjolras.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood and Flowers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DVwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DVwrites/gifts).



“How idiotic can you get?” Grantaire smirked, the cigarette half hanging from his lips. He watched as the blonde spoke, moving his hands in frustration. “Maginot should be focusing in utilising the strength of France’s armies, rather than wasting their strength on creating a barrier between our borders.” The Maginot line was something that Enjolras insisted on talking upon. Behind his back, Grantaire mimicked pressing a pistol to his head and pulling the trigger. Beside him Courfeyrac stifled a laugh. Of course, this was never enough. The bat like ears that were placed ever so perfectly upon Enjolras’ head forced him to throw a glare in Courfeyrac’s direction.

“Don’t pretend that you are ignorant of this problem!” Even whilst facing adversity among his peers, and gaining the bored apathetic stare off of other’s, Enjolras continued. “If Germany should feel like attacking the Motherland, no doubt they would find away around our boundaries.”

“Or through!” Marius stepped towards Enjolras. It was strange to see them united in a matter. “You all have heard the news. It is not like how it was. The Germans are better prepared this time! They have better weapons, better infantry. France can hardly stand on it’s feet as it is!” Enjolras nodded proudly in Marius’ direction, taking his arm in a form of comradeship. 

Jehan, whose head was already upon the battlefield, considering the blood as it congealed against his beloved flowers, in the same spot where years later flowers refused to bud, became worried, and allowed a crease to decorate his brow. “What do you mean? How could they possibly? Germany should have hardly built itself up from the ruin of the First World War.” 

“Which we won.” Bossuet, from the corner of the room, almost invisible through the cigar smoke that cloaked him, grinned, quite proud of this fact. “Which the Brittish won.” The negative voice in the room belonged to Grantaire as usual, who had previously been busy discussing his immense boredom with his friend. 

The inclusion of Grantaire’s voice inputting into the conversation was enough to darken both Bossuet's and Enjolras’ expression. Grantaire marvelled at how it almost darkened simultaneously. “With help from the French!” Enjolras lifted a hand, effectively silencing Bossuet. 

“Grantaire, is there any reason for you to come here?” Grantaire almost winced at the sharp tone tumbling from Enjolras’ lips, although he managed a weak smile. “Free wine.” This answer, of course, served to heighten the blonde’s rage further. He could almost see the blood boiling beneath his perfectly soft skin. Ignoring the fact that Enjolras was the most perfect specimen of creation that he had ever been privileged to meet, he noted the moving mouth which meant some insult was likely being slung at him, and the muted utterance of “that wine isn’t free” from Courfeyrac beside him. 

The door creaked as it was pushed ajar by an auburn haired female, clad in yellow. Hey eyes momentarily scanned the room, before they landed on Grantaire. “Come on, ‘Taire, mama wants you back home, right now!” Silently, Grantaire thanked the heavens for the distraction. His stomach gnawed, however, while he watched Enjolras stoop his head over Abelina’s hand and press his mouth to the skin. She fluttered slightly in his grasp, although only the amount that was respectable for a lady. 

Grantaire, the churning of his stomach creating something spiteful in himself, stood and pushed his chair back audibly enough to call the entire attention of the bar. He lifted a hand, pressing it into a straight salute against his brow. “Hail Hitler!” 

The words fell down the Les amis’ ears like acid, almost burning them. Enjolras physically flinched, as if he had been slapped. “You better get used to hearing that when the Germans get here. In fact, you’d better get used to doing that.” 

“Grantaire!” Enjolras, finally over his shock, stepped forward, his hand pressing to the gun in his belt. “Lucky that I know you, else you would have been shot down.” 

“Yes, yes.” Shaking his brown locks, Grantaire stepped towards his sister and took her arm, leading her outside. 

“Grantaire,” she muttered when she felt the pavement outside of the establishment touch the soles of her shoes. “That wasn’t funny. If the Gendarme had heard you you would have been dead by now.” 

“So what? No doubt we’ll die as soon as we are invaded. If not for being French, then for my...sexual taste.” Abelina held tighter to his arm, uneasy with such talk. “I may as well have been born in the 1700’s.” 

“Don’t talk like that. Don’t you think that the Maginot line will help?” Grantaire shot her a despairing glance, before laughing softly.  
“Come on, ‘Lina, let’s go shopping or something. I’m so tired of politics.” Abelina stood on her tiptoes, kissing her brother playfully on the cheek. 

\---------------------

“What’s this?” Grantaire’s brow furrowed, pressing his fingers to the yellow and white badge pinned to Enjolras’ chest. “Don’t tell me you agree with those lunatics! Enjolras, see sense...!”  
“I am seeing sense,” meeting his gaze, Enjolras let loose a heavy sigh. “I have thought about this often, through many weeks, even months. From the very beginning, before war was declared.” 

He thought for a moment, looking down, before lifting his eyes, which were suddenly unsteady, back to Grantaire. “They took the Rhine, Grantaire. We can no longer simply sit and hope that they will not invade, when they have already gained control of our territory. And they invaded Poland! The Germans will make their way through Belgium to our lands!” 

“But Enjolras, really? Communism?” Grantaire shook his head, turning away from the other.  
“We must take chances to succeed, Grantaire! The Communists are the only ones who are attempting to do anything at all about Germany. And with funding from The Soviet Union, I don’t see how..-”

“From The Soviet Union? The Soviet Union? How can you justify gaining help from The Soviet Union? Honestly, what stake do they even have in this war? Why would it matter to them?” Enjolras looked almost enraged for a moment, irritated at being interrupted. Noting this, Grantaire shrugged, eyeing the communist badge that decorated Enjolras’ lapels. “Well, I just hope you know what you’re doing. Sure, Commy ideas probably seem ideal to you, but at what cost, right?” 

“Thank you. I know what is best for my country.” It was on the tip of Grantaire’s tongue to correct him with the word our, but then Enjolras smiled at him, and Grantaire’s stomach seemed to melt. This moment was over all too quickly as Enjolras turned to speak to Marius. 

\------------------------------

The last nine months had been remarkably quiet, which was surprising since war had been declared in September. However, now there was a dull quiet in the bar. Heads were bowed, contemplating the news as it had hit previously.

German troops had broke through and had crossed the Meuse river. Even Grantaire, who had already thought up lines such as ‘welcome to Deutschland, boys’, remained quiet, silently studying the stray thread that had suddenly become very interesting. 

Finally, their leader, Enjolras broke the silence. “Who’s coming with me?”  
“I’m sorry...” Grantaire frowned, lifting a brow, allowing the thread to fall to the ground. “Coming with you where?”  
“To the river Meuse, of course.”  
“The river Meuse? That’s suicide, Enjolras.” 

The silence surrounding them soon became so much stiffer, as Enjolras stepped forward, gripping Grantaire’s shoulder. “Grantaire, it is understandable that you are afraid. We all are. But we cannot allow the Germans to infiltrate our land completely.” He had said our. Grantaire lifted his hand, placing it on Enjolras’. “I am with you.” 

\---------------------------

There was approximately a total of 63,185,500 deaths during the Second World War. France itself lost 567,600. Across the battlefield, Grantaire watched as Enjolras became the only one death that mattered to him. It was the only one he searched for that decorated the wall of the Memorial walls. It was the only one he imagined when standing upon the banks of the river Meuse. Stooping down, he toyed with the flowers, which grew still, although the blood congealed around them. 

“Grantaire, come on. We have to get going.” A grin lifted the corners of his lips as his hand was clasped. Through the light, his eyes drank in the blonde locks, clinging to his friend as they ascended, Joly, Jehan, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Bossuet and Combeferre at their sides.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave feedback so that my work can improve.


End file.
